by Lance Corporal James M. Schmidt

‘Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
in a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone.
I had come down the chimney with presents to give,
and to see just who in this home did live.

I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
no tinsel, no presents, net even a tree.
No stocking by mantle, just boots filled with sand,
on the wall hung pictures of far distant lands.

With medals and badges, awards of all kinds,
a sober thought came through my mind.
For this house was different, it was dark and dreary,
I found the home of a soldier, once I could see clearly.

The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone,
curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home.
The face was so gentle, the room in such disorder,
not how I pictured a United States Soldier.

Was this the hero of whom I’d just read?
Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?
I realized the families that I saw this night,
owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight.

Soon round the world, the children would play,
and grownups would celebrate a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year,
because of the soldiers, like the one lying here.

I couldn’t help wonder how many lay alone,
on a cold Christmas Eve in a land far from home.
The very thought brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees and started to cry.

The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice,
“Santa don’t cry, this life is my choice;
I fight for freedom, I don’t ask for more,
my life is my God, my Country, My Corps.”

The soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep,
I couldn’t control it, I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours, so silent and still
and we both shivered from the cold night’s chill.

I didn’t want to leave on that cold, dark night,
this guardian of honor so willing to fight.
The the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and pure,
whispered, “carry on Santa, it’s Christmas day, all is secure.”

One look at my watch and I knew he was right.
Merry Christmas my friend, and to all a good night.

© Wake Up With the Wolf Show – 93.1 the Wolf – WPAW.  Please share this with your friends!

Our friends at WXII report that Samaritan Ministries in Winston-Salem has been serving so many people recently, their cupboard is almost bare.

The group is short on canned goods such as green beans, corn and peas.

Anyone who would like to donate can bring canned goods to Samaritan Ministries at 1243 Patterson Ave. in Winston-Salem.

Click here for details.

by Marla Poncsak, “Heartwarmers4u”

There are many occurrences in our day to day lives that go unnoticed, but there is one which will remain clear in my mind for the rest of my life, and I would love to share it with you, as a Christmas story.

Throughout much of 1996 and 1997 I was forced to watch helplessly as Parkinson’s disease claimed my father. It is a horrible disease which strips its victims of their dignity, but not their will to live.

My father had not lived an easy life, but he never complained or tried to lay blame elsewhere. He was a warm and loving father and husband who would spend many hours of every day working on our farm, but each fall he loved to take a breather and enjoy his favorite sport, hunting. It was like he was totally transformed when hunting season opened. It was his holiday and you could see how much he loved to get out with some of his friends or my brothers for a few days away from the daily demands of farm life. He was always happy if lady luck smiled on him and he were able to bring home a nice deer, but it was just the release that brought out that special something in him at that time of year.

Then as he got older and hunting became too hard for him he would spend hours going for drives in the evening just to see if he could catch a glimpse of some deer. He loved to sit and watch them graze and see if maybe a fawn would appear with the doe.

Towards the end, he was confined to hospital for a long time and there were days when he would simply lay there looking out the window towards the hills, and you could see a tear trickle from his eye. I often thought that he must just be wishing he could be out there again, but it was not to be. He passed away on October 22, 1997, and just before he died he looked directly at me and with a final effort said, “I’ll see you.”

My father and I had always been especially close, and it was so hard for me to accept he was finally gone. The thought of getting life back to normal just didn’t seem possible. Then before we knew it, it was time to begin preparations for Christmas. That winter proved to be a harsh one and we were buried under mounds of snow. Time slipped away and when Christmas day arrived a storm made travel very difficult and we decided to stay home.

All day I kept busy with preparations, and by early afternoon the storm seemed to subside. Just before supper the sky cleared, the wind died down, and everything was so still.

Then, just as I was about to call everyone to sit at the table, I looked out our big living room window. I was nearly blinded by the brilliance of the sunset on the fresh snow, but out of the corner of my eye I saw some movement. It was a beautiful whitetail doe, and she seemed to have her mind set or at least her eye set on something. She had her head held high, and she jumped the fence and plunged through the heavy snowdrifts heading directly towards the house. I called for everyone to come and see her. She didn’t stop until she was right up to the window. We all stood side by side at the window looking face to face at her only three feet away. Then she took a step to the right and it was like she was staring straight into my eyes. In that instant, and I do not know why, it was like my mind was bombarded with this intense image of my father saying, “I’ll see you.”

We stood there in such close contact with this beautiful creature for several minutes, and then she just slowly turned and went back the way she had come.

No one will ever know why she paid us that special visit, but in my heart and in my mind I will never forget the impact it had on me, because I had been wishing all day that my Father were with us.

It will remain a cherished memory for me throughout my life, a wonderful Christmas gift.

© Wake Up With the Wolf Show – 93.1 the Wolf – WPAW.  Please share this with your friends!

by Author Unknown, Source Unknown

“Daddy”, he said, his eyes full of tears,
“will you talk to me and quiet my fears?
Those bad boys at school are spreading a lie
’bout the impossibility of reindeer that fly.

There’s no Santa Claus, they say with a grin
there’s not one now, and there never has been.
How can one man take all of those toys
to thousands of girls and boys?

But I told them Daddy, that they were not right,
that I would come home and find out tonight.
Mamma said wait until you come home.
Please tell me now that I was not wrong.”

His Daddy looked at his questioning face
and puffed his pipe while his frantic mind raced.
He had put this off as long as he could,
he had to think fast and it better be good.

Whispering a prayer, he began with a smile,
“well climb on my lap, dear, let’s talk awhile.”
“Remember at church how we learned to pray,
asking God to take care of us each day?

And you know how we say grace before each meal?
To this same God whom we know to be real.
Though we never see him, we know he is there
watching his children with such loving care.”

“God started Christmas a long time ago
when he gave us His son to love and to know.
A spirit of giving came with that birth,
and God’s generosity filled the whole earth.

Man had to name this spirit of giving
just as he names all things that are living.
The name Santa Claus came to someone’s mind
probably the best name of any to find.

There is, you can see, and I think quite clear
Truly a Santa who visits each year.
A spirit like God, whom we never see,
he enters the hearts of your mother and me.”

“Each year at Christmas for one special night
we become him and make everything right.
But the real spirit of Christmas is in you and in me
and I hope you are old enough now to see
that as we believe and continue to give,
our friend Santa Claus will continue to live.”

© Wake Up With the Wolf Show – 93.1 the Wolf – WPAW.  Please share this with your friends!

Seriously…he sent me a video message from the North Pole!
 http://www.portablenorthpole.tv/watch/gu…

I didn’t know I made THAT list, though…and I have also learned that he watches a little too much…

Merry Christmas…love my Wolf Family!

-CJDW

Submitted by Wolf Gang member Michael Whisenhunt

Once there were three trees on a hill in the woods. They were discussing their hopes and dreams when the first tree said, ‘Someday I hope to be a great treasure chest. I could be filled with gold, silver and precious gems. I could be decorated with an intricate carving and everyone would see the beauty.’

Then the second tree said, ‘Someday I will be a mighty ship. I will take kings and queens across the waters and sail to the corners of the world.  People will feel safe in me because of the strength of my hull.’

Finally the third tree said, ’I want to grow to be the tallest and straightest tree in the forest.  People will see me on top of the hill; look up to my branches, and think of the heavens and God and how close to them I am reaching. I will be the greatest tree of all time and people will always remember me.’

After a few years of praying that their dreams would come true, a group of woodsmen came upon the trees. When one came to the first tree he said, ‘This looks like a strong tree. I think I should be able to sell the wood to a carpenter, and he began cutting it down.  The tree was happy, because he knew the carpenter would make him into a treasure chest.

At the second tree the woodsman said, ‘This looks like a strong tree.  I will be able to sell it to the shipyard.’ The second tree was happy because he knew he was on his way to becoming a mighty ship.

When the woodsmen came upon the third tree, the tree was frightened because he knew that if they cut him down his dreams would not come true.  One of the men said, ’I don’t need anything special from my tree. I’ll take this one,’ and he cut it down.

When the first tree arrived at the carpenter’s, he was made into a feed box for animals. He was then placed in a barn and filled with hay.  This was not at all what he had prayed for.

The second tree was cut and made into a small fishing boat.  His dreams of being a mighty ship and carrying kings had come to an end.

The third tree was cut into large pieces, and left alone in the dark.

The years went by, and the trees forgot about their dreams.

Then one day, a man and woman came to the barn. She gave birth and they placed the baby in the hay in the feed box that was made from the first tree.  The man wished that he could have made a crib for the baby, but this manger would have to do.  The tree could feel the importance of this event and knew that it had held the greatest treasure of all time.

Years later, a group of men got in the fishing boat made from the second tree.  One of them was tired and went to sleep. While they were out on the water, a great storm arose and the tree didn’t think it was strong enough to keep the men safe. The men woke the sleeping man, and he stood and said ‘Peace’ and the storm stopped.  At this time, the tree knew that it had carried the King of Kings in its boat.

Finally, someone came and got the third tree. It was carried through the streets as the people mocked the man who was carrying it. When they came to a stop, the man was nailed to the tree and raised in the air to die at the top of a hill. When Sunday came, the tree came to realize that it was strong enough to stand at the top of the hill and be as close to God as was possible, because Jesus had been crucified on it.

The moral of this story is that when things don’t seem to be going your way, always know that God has a plan for you. If you place your trust in Him, God will give you great gifts.

Each of the trees got what they wanted, just not in the way they had imagined.

We don’t always know what God’s plans are for us. We just know that His ways are not our ways, but His ways are always best.

© Wake Up With the Wolf Show – 93.1 the Wolf – WPAW.  Please share this with your friends!

By Carol Stigger

At the Christmas Eve church service, I sat with my two boisterous grandchildren, ages three and five. Their parents sat in front of the church to present a nativity reading titled “Silent Night.” They had warned the children to behave. I had warned the children to behave. With scrubbed angelic faces and Christmas wonder in their eyes, they looked like model children posing for a magazine holiday spread. I indulged myself in a few moments of pride.
Alec pinched Aubrey. I was grateful that the organ thundered into the first hymn just then, drowning out her yelp. I grabbed her hand before she could return the pinch. During the Lord’s Prayer, Aubrey shredded the program I had given her to color on. The crayons had already rolled under the pew. I watched bits of paper fall on the carpet like snow. I would help her pick it up later, but for now the naughtiness I was allowing kept her occupied and her brother quietly admiring.

We were enjoying an uneasy truce when their parents stood to deliver the reading.

“Mommy!” Alec yelled.

She frowned, and he sat back in his seat.

“Silence,” my son said to the congregation. “Think for a moment what that word means to you.”

My daughter-in-law signed his words. Earlier that year, she began to use her new signing skills for the benefit of the few hearing-impaired members of our church.

Alec said a naughty word, thankfully too low for many to hear. I scowled at him, shaking my finger and my head. Aubrey grinned. Then she proclaimed, every syllable enunciated perfectly, in a clear voice that carried to far corners of the sanctuary, “Alec is a potty mouth!”

Everyone stared. I was too stunned to speak. My son and his wife looked at each other. But instead of anger, I saw surprise.

My son set aside his script and told another story. He told about their daughter being born profoundly deaf. He talked about four years of hearing aids and speech therapy with no guarantee she would ever learn to speak plainly. He talked about the rugged faith that kept the family praying she would have a normal life.
He said Aubrey’s outburst was an answer to prayer: the first perfectly enunciated sentence she had ever spoken.

From the back of the room, a lone voice sang the last line of a beloved Christmas Carol: Hark! The herald angels sing, Glory to the newborn king.

While the congregation sang four verses of the unscheduled hymn, my two little angels wiggled in their parents’ arms, adding laughter and giggles to the joyful Christmas noise.

© Wake Up With the Wolf Show – 93.1 the Wolf – WPAW.  Please share this with your friends!

By Ted A. Thompson

The year our youngest daughter, Shelly, was four, she received an unusual Christmas present from “Santa.”

She was the perfect age for Christmas, able to understand the true meaning of the season, but still completely enchanted by the magic of it. Her innocent joyfulness was compelling and catching — a great gift to parents, reminding us of what Christmas should represent no matter how old we are.
The most highly prized gift Shelly received that Christmas Eve was a giant bubble-maker, a simple device of plastic and cloth the inventor promised would create huge billowing bubbles, large enough to swallow a wide-eyed four-year-old. Both Shelly and I were excited about trying it out, but it was after dark so we’d have to wait until the next day.

Later that night I read the instruction booklet while Shelly played with some of her other new toys. The inventor of the bubble-maker had tried all types of soaps for formulating bubbles and found that Joy dishwashing detergent created the best giant bubbles. I’d have to buy some.

The next morning, I was awakened very early by small stirrings in the house. Shelly was up. I knew in my sleepy mind that Christmas Day festivities would soon begin, so I arose and made my way toward the kitchen to start the coffee. In the hallway, I met my daughter, already wide awake, the bubble- maker clutched in her chubby little hand, the magic of Christmas morning embraced in her four-year-old heart. Her eyes were shining with excitement, and she asked, “Daddy, can we make bubbles now?”

I sighed heavily and rubbed my eyes. I looked toward the window, where the sky was only beginning to lighten with the dawn. I looked toward the kitchen, where the coffeepot had yet to start dripping its aromatic reward for early-rising Christmas dads.

“Shelly,” I said, my voice almost pleading and perhaps a little annoyed, “it’s too early. I haven’t even had my coffee yet.”

Her smile fell away. Immediately I felt a father’s remorse for bursting her bright Christmas bubble with what I suddenly realized was my own selfish problem, and my heart broke a little.

But I was a grown-up. I could fix this. In a flash of adult inspiration, I unshouldered the responsibility. Recalling the inventor’s recommendation of a particular brand of bubble-making detergent — which I knew we did not have in the house — I laid the blame squarely on him, pointing out gently, “Besides, you have to have Joy.”

I watched her eyes light back up as she realized, in less than an instant, that she could neutralize this small problem with the great and wonderful truth she was about to reveal.

“Oh, Daddy,” she promised, with all the honesty and enthusiasm and Christmas excitement she could possibly communicate, “Oh, Daddy, I do.”

I broke records getting to the store, and in no time at all we were out on the front lawn creating gigantic, billowing, gossamer orbs–each one filled with Joy and sent forth shimmering into the Christmas sun.

© Wake Up With the Wolf Show – 93.1 the Wolf – WPAW.  Please share this with your friends!

My thoughts exactly!! Love this guy! (his name is Louis C.K., by the way)
xoxo
-Charley

Submitted by Wolf Gang member Linda Fields

A woman was out Christmas shopping with her two children.  After many hours of looking at row after row of toys and everything else imaginable, and after hours of hearing both her children asking for everything they saw on those many shelves, she finally made it to the elevator with her two kids.

She was feeling what so many of us feel during the holiday season time of the year. Overwhelming pressure to go to every party, every housewarming, taste all the holiday food and treats, getting that perfect gift for every single person on our shopping list, making sure we don’t forget anyone on our card list, and the pressure of making sure we respond to everyone who sent us a card.

Finally the elevator doors opened and there was already a crowd in the car. She pushed her way into the car and dragged her two kids in with her and all the bags of stuff. When the doors closed she couldn’t take it anymore and stated, “Whoever started this whole Christmas thing should be found, strung up and shot.”

From the back of the car everyone heard a quiet, calm voice respond, “Don’t worry; we already crucified him.” For the rest of the trip down the elevator it was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

Don’t forget this year to keep the One who started this whole Christmas thing in your every thought, deed, purchase, and word. If we all did it, just think of how different this whole world would be.

© Wake Up With the Wolf Show – 93.1 the Wolf – WPAW.  Please share this with your friends!